Never Again To Yield
by fandom.vision
Summary: Rick's world has collapsed. Injured and mentally staggering after the fall of the prison his only priority is keeping Carl safe. Only days from Terminus, Rick can only hope that some of their family made it out of the prison. He's finding that holding on to that hope is getting harder and harder by the minute. (Rickyl) (Companion fic to 'Never Give Up. Never Surrender.')
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: So, I was inspired at some point somehow on my lengthy drives to and from work of late to write a companion fic to "Never Give Up. Never Surrender." This one will be entirely from Rick's point of view, so we'll get to see everything we didn't see in NGUNS. That's something that bothered me despite how much I loved how NGUNS was turning out as I wrote it. Kat-valkyrian and I had talked a bit about a few scenes when I was frustrated by not being able to explain things from Rick's PoV and eventually those discussions led to this. So here we go. I promise that even though this is a retelling of sorts, it's really not. It's basically going to go over scenes that weren't brought out in NGUNS because Daryl wasn't aware of them and things I just didn't cover because it didn't flow in that telling.**

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They were a day, possibly two from Terminus. Rick let his head rest back against the wall he sat against and licked dry, chapped and cracked lips. It had been a few days since they'd been forced to leave the first secure shelter they'd come upon after…

Rick picked his head up and let it drop back against the wall with a dull thud. It was gone. All of it. Everything they had worked for. Every sacrifice they had made. The lives they had lost even before the Governor had come a knockin'. All of it had been for nothing in the end. Judith…

Again Rick picked his head up off the wall and let his skull bounce none too gently off the concrete. The burn in his eyes was an acidic thing, drenching the inside of his nose with the same sting. He sniffled a little, hoping the noise wouldn't wake either of his companions. Carl, thankfully, seemed undisturbed. He was curled up close to Rick's right hip with his back pressed into the same wall Rick was supporting himself with. Michonne lay to Rick's right, half curled on her side and with her back to the wall as well.

God, but he was thankful for her. He could barely hold himself together, and Carl, no matter how capable the boy thought he was, still needed a steady, guiding hand. Right now, Rick's hands shook like he was having a seizure both in the literal and metaphorical senses. His mind was fractured, and his ability to stay conscious was limited even though he genuinely hadn't caught an actual wink of sleep in something like three days. Nothing but small snippets of oblivion since he'd woken from what Carl had believed was a coma. Even keeping track of the days was hard when all he could see in his mind's eye were flashing images of Herschel's head being half-severed from his body, a Walker creeping up on Daryl up the hill, and the Governor's sickly delighted face as he attempted to beat the very life out of Rick's body.

Most of his life after that was a blur to the moment he sat in now. It wasn't beyond his understanding that he may have suffered some serious level of concussion and that his body had yet to recover from the trauma completely. If it ever would. He wouldn't be holding his breath on a full recovery with the state of his luck in the last week. As if on repeat, those same repetitious images flashed through his mind's eye again: Herschel's sad, resigned smile full of forgiveness as if to say "Rick, you did the right thing. I forgive you." Followed by the Governor as he raised his fist for what had to have been the twentieth time, the blow slamming Rick's head to the right. Just passed the bus, he'd seen Daryl duck behind an old set of office cabinets, and had in that brief glimpse caught sight of a Walker shambling up behind him.

Rick picked his head up and dropped it back against the wall again.

He wasn't a fool. Not completely. Daryl was dead. Herschel was dead. Judith…

"Dad."

Rick lowered his chin, Carl's soft voice stopping him from letting his head drop back against the wall again by dragging his attention from his own painful thoughts. The scrape of denim and rubber soles on the concrete floor of the small car repair shop they had hunkered down in for the night was loud in the stillness of the dark around them. Rick almost shushed the boy, but Michonne wasn't indicating that she was disturbed, so he simply watched the shape of his son shift about in the shadows. Carl settled back against the wall beside his father once he was sitting up. Rick's old uniform Stetson sat on the floor between Carl's feet now with the change in position.

"Everythang okay, Carl?" he murmured and finally pulled his eyes down to his hands where they hung limply over his drawn up knees. His voice sounded like he'd been screaming for days.

Carl sighed and rolled his head against the wall until he was mostly looking in Rick's direction. Rick caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, but didn't turn to meet Carl's eyes. He doubted he'd be man enough to meet his son's eyes for a good long while.

"No," Carl mumbled into the dark and folded his arms over his stomach.

The silence stretched for several long moments before Rick finally pressed with, "What's wrong?"

"You weren't even this bad after Mom died."

Rick winced. Lori, who had died too early even for this world because Rick had _failed_ to protect her. Just like he had failed to protect Judith. He'd barely started getting to know his baby girl and now she was gone from him just like her mother. Farther away than she would have been even if she had never been born because he'd _held_ her, kissed her brow and rocked her to sleep, and now he would _never_ feel that again.

"You were bad," Carl continued after a thoughtful moment. "I mean, you were seein' Mom's ghost everywhere. And c'mon, that's pretty bad. You even believed that she was leadin' you t' somethin' important outside the prison fences. If Daryl hadn't showed up when he did-"

Carl fell suddenly silent. Rick must have made some kind of noise to cause Carl's teeth to click like that, and he cursed his inability to reign in his emotions, but with his head pounding and his mind so fragmented that he could barely focus on one thought at a time he really couldn't even blame himself.

"We need to look for the others," Carl murmured after a moment, taking his eyes away from Rick and staring off into the darkness around them. Rick gnawed on his lower lip. "Michonne made it out. We did. Maybe Beth and Maggie and Glenn…and Daryl made it out alright."

Rick felt the distressed noise leave his throat this time, and he brought both hands up to press trembling fingertips into his eyes. Daryl was dead. Judith was…

"I'm not blind you know," Carl pointed out very unhelpfully. "Or deaf."

"You wanna tell me what you're gettin' at, or are you jus' gonna keep pointin' out the obvious?" Rick's leg was shaking, bouncing up and down with nervous, pent up energy. He immediately regretted his words and tone, looking away and wiping hard at his mouth with one very unsteady hand, the gesture useless for wiping away the dry bitterness lingering there. Carl didn't seem put off by Rick's little outburst, and Rick was more than a little thankful that his boy was so incredibly intuitive for his age.

"I can't remember a time when Mom wasn't angry at you," Carl said at last. "Even before you got shot. I didn't understand what she meant when she would talk to Kathy down the street or Aunt Jane and say things like 'I don't even know if we're in love any more. Maybe we are. I really don't know.' But looking back on it, the way you were with Shane all the time…I think I see what she meant."

"Mind enlightenin' me a _little_ more than that, Carl?" Rick murmured, keeping a check on his temper this time even though his muscles were tense across his shoulders, and his jaw was clenching a little tighter every minute. It was hovering in the back of his splintered mind that this was something he already knew, but that no one else should know.

"I think she thought you were having an affair with Shane…or, at least, that you wanted to."

Rick's blood went instantly cold, freezing in his veins and locking his muscles up to the point that he couldn't even speak. His eyes felt wide, or at least as wide as they could get considering he could still hardly even see out of the one of them. Not that he would have been seeing anyway with the way his mind exploded with long suppressed thoughts, arguments and concerns. 'Get a beer or two in you,' Lori's ghostly voice hissed at him, and he could just see their old kitchen in the heat of summer, feel the light breeze on his face and neck through the open window. 'And it's like you forget I'm even here! It's all about _Shane_.'

Carl seemed oblivious to Rick's sudden distress and added, "Daryl's a much better pick than Shane."

"What makes you think…?" If his voice had sounded horrible before, it sounded like he'd been gargling ground glass now.

"You call for him in your sleep _all the time_." Carl finally looked away then and let the back of his skull rest against the wall. "You called for him all the time while we were out on the road after we lost the farm. Any time things got tough, you'd just glance back and call for him. Then we aimed to clear the prison, and you started calling his name even more."

Jesus, how long had he actually been out of his mind?! He couldn't remember ever yelling for his former partner after the night he'd put a knife into the man's chest, but Carl wouldn't lie about it. Not now. After everything. "Shane and I were friends for a _long_…"

"_Not_ Shane. Dad. _Daryl_."

Rick fell silent and closed his eyes. "Carl…"

Really he didn't know what to say. He'd struggled with all of this before the Turn, but once the dead had started to rise it hadn't seemed important in the face of his family's survival. In fact it had completely faded into the back of his thoughts. Sometimes, when he'd catch a glimpse of Shane in just the right moment, before the man had turned into a rabid dog, he'd feel it in his chest. Something that might have been if things had gone down a different path, but even that was overshadowed by the connection that he could just see hanging in the air between Lori and Shane, no matter how much Lori had tried to refute it. It wasn't until Daryl had stepped up that night on the farm and taken over the responsibility of putting Dale out of his misery that Rick had felt those stirrings again.

And then everything had gone to shit, and all of Rick went right back into ensuring his – much larger – family's survival. Now Shane and Lori were both gone. Judith was gone and Daryl…

He could feel the whine of his breath in his throat, but the noise abruptly ceased when Carl reached out and laid a firm hand on his arm. "I'm sure Daryl's alive, Dad," the boy murmured and shook him a little bit. "Dad?"

"Carl," Rick croaked and wiped at his mouth again. "I don't think anyone could have made it outta there. We were lucky t' get out ourselves. How-"

"Because he's Daryl," Carl interrupted. "He's probably out there lookin' for us right now."

A tentative silence fell between them. Rick just closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the wall again. He was so tired, and there was no way he could sleep. Carl was pretty capable of taking care of himself these days, but the soul-wringing _need_ to watch over his son, the last truly important person in his life, just wouldn't let him lose enough awareness for rest.

"At least it isn't someone like Andrea," Carl offered after several long moments ticked by. "She was pretty, but she was kind of a bitch."

"Language," Rick croaked before he could really stop himself. Carl completely ignored him.

"I'm cool with it…" the boy murmured almost as if he were speaking to himself. "You being in love with Daryl, I mean. I think he loves you too. It's just repressed under all that hillbilly prejudice."

"Where in god's name did you learn t' talk like that?" Rick knew he sounded dumbfounded more than unhappy even through the frog in his throat.

He could hear the shrug in Carl's words. "Everybody talks like that these days, Dad. Even the little old ladies from Woodbury."

"I must have had my head buried _real_ deep in the sand then…" Rick mumbled and Carl laughed softly, leaning into Rick's shoulder. Rick grinned a bit, but refrained from laughing. His ribs were less sore than they'd been, but they were still pretty tender. He was grateful that heavy bruising was the most of his concerns aside from whatever had caused him to go comatose while they'd stayed in that house. The bullet wound in his leg was surprisingly minor.

After several long moments, Carl spoke again. This time, though, his tone was less uppity. It was instead softly serious, like he really hoped that his father was going to hear him and not just listen. "When we find Daryl, you should tell him. Even if you don't tell him the whole truth about your feelings, you should at least tell him you love him. I think he needs that too."

Rick mulled that over for a moment and then tipped himself into Carl's shoulder more, pressing into the rail thin body leaning against him. When he tipped his head, he was just able to rest it against the top of Carl's unruly mop of hair. "Okay."

"You'd better."

"I will."

"Good."

Rick let the silence settle between them for just a second before he added, "You need a hair cut."

"You're one t' talk," Carl chuckled. Rick grinned. Neither of them moved for the rest of the night.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Okay, so I want to give credit where credit is due as always, but I really can't remember if it was ampkiss, taurminian or someone else on Tumblr that put the idea in my head of Rick looking at men before falling into the coma and that being the reason Lori was always so upset. At any rate, it's sort of my headcanon now. I hope that's okay that I assimilated it into my writing.**

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They pressed on early the next morning. It was entirely possible that the men that had invaded their safe house were headed in the same direction as Rick's group, and they had seemed unsavory at best. Rick wanted to avoid them completely if at all possible. They were hardly able to handle more than a few Walkers right now, let alone a gang of thugs. On top of Rick's concerns over potentially being followed, their pace was slower than Rick would have liked. With the bullet wound in his leg and the serious damage done to his side, he just couldn't make himself move faster than he was. Not without an adrenaline jolt. Certainly, he was much better than he'd been four or so days ago, but it was frustrating being so laid up that he was all but useless. At least his mind was feeling clearer today. So, the three of them pressed on, slow and easy, and sticking hard to the tracks. Until they reached the end of the line.

At one point the woods just ended. As one, they warily stepped out of the cover of the forest and into a mostly empty train yard. To their right was a tall chain-link fence that stretched from the train garage they could see a ways down the yard yet to the first curve of the tracks. To their left was a sloping hill that rose up from the yard and was topped with the same type of fence. Beyond the hill they could see tall-grass fields, the end of a road and a building that looked to be some type of warehouse. Three of the fence panels were down at the top of the hill, but other than that small indication of disorder, the few box cars remaining and the surrounding area seemed empty and quiet, undisturbed really.

As one they stopped and looked around.

"It would be a bad decision to walk into that dark garage," Michonne murmured, her eyes locked on the open doors and pitch black interior of the train garage that all of the tracks ran into.

"I agree," Rick murmured and surveyed the hill for a few brief moments before moving in that direction. It was the best option available to them at the moment. "We go up. I want a better look at the city."

Michonne and Carl followed. If his son hovered closer to him than might have been necessary otherwise, Rick opted not to mention it. It was nice knowing his competent boy had his back. The climb up the modest incline was a little reminiscent of that first hill he'd forced himself up barefoot, aching and disoriented after he'd stumbled from the hospital yard what seemed like an entire lifetime ago. He hunched forward, sore enough to be entirely unable to climb in any semblance of an upright position, but his body was better trained now and he didn't need to crawl.

Once at the top of the hill, they picked their way over the springy resistance of the downed fence and stepped up into a small alleyway between the fence and the warehouse. Without a word the three of them moved as one to press against the wall, moving along it to the mouth of the alley. Michonne took point and peeked around only to motion them to follow her a second later. As a unit they moved around onto the street and edged along that side of the building until Michonne could once again peer around the corner. After a long moment, Michonne finally motioned them around and stepped forward.

Rick felt his heart sink as the street beyond the warehouse came into view. Walkers stumbled about everywhere. Either they needed to find another way around, or they were going to have to make a slow and careful trip through the city itself. He'd learned firsthand in Atlanta that massive congregations of Walkers could be idly lurking around any turn down there. Rick turned and walked away. He stalked out into the middle of the intersection behind them, and gingerly raised his hands so that he could run them through his greasy hair. He couldn't fight the wince raising his arms brought, but the small twinge of pain cleared his head a little.

"Is there a way around?" he asked Carl and Michonne, turning around to look at each of them in turn. "Can we go around an' not have t' deal with Them?"

Carl and Michonne exchanged a look Rick couldn't read, and once again, Rick found himself grateful that Carl had at least _someone_ worthwhile to confide in. When they looked back at him, their twin expressions said it all. They were going to have to go through the city.

Swamped with anxiety, Rick whirled and paced. Every step made his sore ribs a little bit sorer, but he was desperate for inspiration. Carl and Michonne watched him for a little while before Michonne stepped forward, reaching out and laying a hand on Rick's arm. He jumped despite having seen her move out of the corner of his eye and winced with a hiss when the pain in his side flared.

"Not tonight," she murmured and glanced to the west. "Let's go back down to those boxcars and get some rest. Carl will stay with you, and I'll go see if I can find some food in the store right there."

Rick's eyes followed her other arm as it swung back to point at the grocery store two doors down from the first store on their left. "You shouldn't go off by yourself," Rick rasped and the protest fell short even to his own ears. The corner of Michonne's mouth pulled up, and she gave him a look that was clearly not impressed.

"He needs to stay with his father. You need him more than I do right now. If something happens, you're in no fit state to defend yourself."

She looked at Carl, and, after a moment, Rick did too. Carl tipped his head, looking up at them from beneath the brim of his hat. "Dad, you look really pale," Carl pointed out, his face going from thoughtful to concerned in the span of a heartbeat.

Michonne's eyes snapped over to Rick again, and it was in turning his head to look at her that the vertigo, something he'd felt swim through his consciousness a time or two since leaving their safe house, found the opportunity to take over. Rick felt his stomach churn, and his knees wobbled. His mouth started watering as the world tipped and tilted, the nausea settling heavily in his gut and clouding his mind. Apparently, his body had decided he'd pushed himself a little too hard, after spending days unconscious. The ground rocked up to meet him, and he felt the impact of it as though from a great distance. Carl's voice calling out to him sounded tinny and muffled. His vision blurred and blackness edged in, the last thing he saw was his son's frantically worried face dropping down over him and then there was nothing.

When Rick came back to himself, swimming up out of the inky depths of his deepest subconscious like a whale surfacing for air, he jolted awake and gasped. Carl's hands pushed hard on his shoulders, Rick slumping back as soon as Carl's shadowed face came into view. "It's okay, Dad! Michonne helped me get you t' a boxcar. We're safe."

Panting, Rick nodded, finally letting his head drop lightly back onto the floor of the boxcar. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut as the ceiling spun. Most probably, the largest part of his problem lay in a dip in his blood sugar. His body was expending a lot of energy trying to repair itself and had received next to nothing to replenish what it had used in its efforts.

A soft series of knocks had Carl scrambling away, Rick tracking the boy's movement and then those of the newcomer – Michonne by the sound of the voice speaking in a hushed tone to Carl after the boxcar door was closed – by sound alone. Weak and heavy-limbed, Rick draped the crock of his elbow over his eyes and swallowed hard again. The nausea was getting a little better, but he was still incredibly uncomfortable.

"Hey," Michonne murmured once she's shuffled her way over to his side. Rick twitched in an automatic reaction, but couldn't bring himself to actually respond to her. Michonne's gentle hand on his shoulder got much the same reaction only this time he allowed a soft grunt to leave him. "I brought a bag of things back. I grabbed some crackers for you to start with."

After a long pause, Rick murmured a raspy, "Thank you."

"You should at least drink this water," Michonne insisted. And the crack of a fresh bottle of water's seal giving to deft fingers pulled him out of his daze. Stiffly, Rick allowed his arm to slide back down. Then he pushed himself over onto his side, and then slowly worked his way into a sitting position. Michonne handed him the opened water, and Rick eagerly took a few small sips.

The last few hours of daylight were spent slowly consuming all of the edible food stuffs Michonne had been able to get her hands on. She reported dispatching no less than five Walkers on her little foray to the grocery store. Michonne had also told them that she had been able to get the drop on those Walkers easily as they'd been fairly dormant at the time, and that she had disposed of most of them executioner style because of it. By the time she'd gotten a few good laughs and a soft chuckle out of Rick with her quiet but goofy reenactments of her "harrowing" adventure, Rick was feeling significantly better with something in his stomach. Her report was nothing but good news. Between feeling less nauseated and the dormancy of the city's Walker's, the next day was certainly looking up.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I know these chapters are shorter than NGUNS', but I like the places I'm ending one chapter and beginning another so I'mma keep going like this. ^_^**

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They got an early start the next morning. Rick felt steadier on his feet, but was still too weak to move them along any faster than they were already going. He didn't argue when Michonne took point, and Carl, gun drawn, took up a position behind him. He hated that he was the weakest link, but it couldn't be helped, so he resigned himself to pressing on as they were. They had discussed at length how they would proceed before they had gone to sleep the night before, so there was no hesitation. Once Michonne signaled that the coast was clear, Carl jumped out of the boxcar and turned to help Rick ease his feet to the ground. Then they were making their way up the hill and over the downed fence. Michonne once again stepped forward along the wall, peering around the corner and clearing it, motioning him and Carl along behind her as she crept along the next wall and peered around.

After several long moments of studying the scene around the edge of the wall, Michonne turned back to them. "The Walkers are mostly sitting along the main road. Very few Wanderers."

"It's the alleys and side streets we're worried about," Rick murmured. He could remember, as clearly as if it had just happened a few days ago, his disastrous ride into Atlanta. He would be absolutely _damned_ if he were going to repeat that foolish mistake. It was nice to be at least a little clearer headed, even if he wasn't one-hundred percent on his game yet.

"So, we move around like we talked about last night," Carl urged, glancing around vigilantly. "We stay low. We stay together. We sneak through, and when we have to, we dispatch'em quietly. Right?"

Rick couldn't help laying a proud hand on his boy's shoulder and squeezing the thin muscling there. "Yeah," he murmured and then looked back to Michonne with a short nod. "Let's go."

They were completely out of options. Surviving the winter out here, exposed to the elements and vulnerable to whoever or whatever came across them, just wasn't going to happen. Not if Rick could help it. So, here they were, taking risks they had no choice but to take. It churned his stomach how far things had fallen in so short a time.

Needless to say, it was slow going. Rick was reminded briefly of his Academy training days, where clearing rooms in training facilities had taken hours as everyone had traded positions, responsibilities and offered critique and praise at the end of each drill. It made him itch to be up front, to see what was coming first, a position he'd always felt most comfortable in even way back then. Not that Michonne couldn't handle it because he knew she could. She was doing an excellent job of silently asking them to halt before she stopped herself and with the same consistent hand signal each time. She really would have made an excellent police woman back before the Turn. He just couldn't shake the overwhelming urge, the _need_, to be the man in charge, to carry the burden of decision, to be the buffer between the people he loves and the certain death before them.

So, at every building corner they stopped, waiting in tense silence for Michonne's 'come along' signal. They stayed low and quiet, crouching so that they could hurry past idle herds down side streets undetected. It was interesting to see that this was a pattern the undead held to, congregating in tight places and going dormant, as though they were content to wait for unsuspecting fools as Rick had once been to stumble upon them. It didn't matter if they really understood the Walkers, they just needed to do everything they could to avoid having to deal with them at all.

Michonne's hand came up as they neared another alley, and Rick reached back, giving Carl the same signal. Michonne crept the last two feet to the edge. As always her hands were on her katana and sheath. She took a moment to breathe in and steel herself for whatever she might find around this corner just like she had at all the others. Then Rick watched as her back flexed, Michonne starting to lean forward to peer around the bricks. The Walker that popped around the corner seemed almost as startled – if Walkers experienced anything of that nature – to see her as she was to see it. Rick was proud of the three of them when no one made a single sound. Michonne backpedaled quick as a cat and in moments the thing was dropping to the ground, its head cleaved in half at an angle that was damn near artistic. Rick's eyes darted around the open street, but the Walkers on the other side of the road were only just now taking notice. Barely at that, as if the fugue that had fallen over them were was still clinging like cobwebs over whatever passed for their consciousness. He reached out and put a hand to the small of Michonne's back. She glanced back and he tipped his head toward the opposite side of the street. She nodded once and then the three of them were moving at a crouched run. They needed cover to give things a chance to go stagnant again.

The stops at alley mouths and street corners were shorter now, Michonne hurrying them along and glancing behind them frequently. Rick didn't need to look to know that the Walkers from across the street were waking up and moving up behind them. Michonne lead them into the third alley they came to, with only a quick glance round the bend to ensure it was at least mostly clear. She killed the only three Walkers there while Rick surged forward to reach for the fire escape ladder. A deep twinge from his ribs had him near doubling over. Carl darted forward and Rick lifted his head just enough to watch as his son jumped, fingers barely catching on the lowest rung. His weight was thankfully enough to bring the ladder down. Carl's hand reaching for him jolted Rick back into motion. No one said a word until they were safely on a landing three floors up.

"How are your ribs?" Michonne asked as Rick lowered himself to the grate they all stood on and leaned back against the building. Her eyes were intense.

"I'm fine," he assured her and blew out a huge sigh. "Just moved too fast back there."

"Mmhmm," Michonne hummed not looking the least bit convinced. She and Carl exchanged one of their looks. Rick chose to ignore them.

"Well, I'm fine enough. Let's see if we can get in through the window. Maybe there'll be somethang t' eat in there."

Carl sighed and moved close the window peering in. After a few minutes of looking around, he tapped on the window. When nothing happened, he and Michonne set about trying to get the window open. In the end they broke the glass and cleared the frame of shards before sliding in one by one. Michonne went first, creeping forward like a stalking panther. Carl followed right after her, gun drawn and ready. Rick grunted as he folded his taller frame through the window. It seemed the coast was clear.

The air was stale. There was thick layer of dust over every surface and it appeared as if the place had been abandoned long before things reached their peak. This city seemed awfully packed with Walkers. It stood to reason that this was a waypoint in the evacuation process, but perhaps these folks – whoever had lived here – had been some of the lucky few to get away from this place before things went completely to hell. Michonne was already moving toward the bedrooms to completely secure the place. Rick eased himself down onto the sofa, ignoring the little cloud of dust that kicked up as he dropped the last few inches to the cushions. Carl moved up to stand in front of him, staring him down.

"What do we do if Terminus is a bust?"

Rick licked busted lips and looked up through the few unruly curls that had fallen across his forehead. "We come back here. Hole up for a bit. Figure it out from there."

"You always have an answer. How do you know it's the right one?" Carl's facial expression hadn't changed from the moment he'd started this staring contest.

"I don't, Carl, but we can't jus' lay down an' die. So, we do somethang. _Anythang_."

"Life is a struggle," Michonne intoned behind him. Carl's eyes flew up to watch her approach over Rick's head. "And you should fight every day. You should never stop fighting, until there's no fight left, and then you fight some more."

Carl studied her for a few long moments, and then looked back down to Rick. Rick only nodded. Michonne had hit the nail on the head. Carl nodded back and then stepped around the couch. "I'm gonna check the cupboards."

"Don't open the fridge," Rick warned, his tone a gentle reminder.

"Hell no! I'm not an idiot, Dad," Carl threw back over his shoulder, and Rick felt the corner of his mouth kick up as he laid his head back against the cushions.

They had canned fruits and vegetables for lunch that afternoon. There had even been a few cans of ravioli. One for each of them. It was probably the best thing they'd all eaten since the last good day at the prison. The fact that that last good meal had been a buck that Daryl had brought in strapped to the hood of the car he and a few of the others had taken out for a supply run crowded into his mind, and a cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he lowered the pear half in his fingers back into the bowl as his stomach tightened with anxiety. How the hell was he going to push on without that steadying presence beside him? He felt unhinged, adrift and damn near lost even just sitting there. Every step of the journey to Terminus so far had been plagued by an underlying sense of hopelessness. Despite Michonne's words from just a few hours ago, Rick wondered if he'd be able to continue to set a good example for his son and fight on even without Lori or Shane or Daryl by his side. In a very melodramatic moment in the privacy of his own mind, Rick had occasionally wondered if he were in some way cursed. Every person he'd ever given a piece of his heart to, excluding Carl, was dead. Even little Judith, who had been his even if she hadn't been. And how long would it be until Carl joined them?

It wasn't a thought he wanted to dwell on. Blue eyes met Carl's over the table they were sitting at for the briefest of moments before he picked the pear half back up and took a bite. After a moment, Carl dropped his gaze and started eating again as well.

A little bit of his resolve seemed to creep back in as he watched his son calmly eating in that dingy little apartment kitchen. _Could_ he fight on? How the hell could he even ask himself that? He still had Carl, and there was _nothing_ he wouldn't do to protect his beloved son.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: So, I've been going back in NGUNS and re-editing it all since I've been away from the earlier chapters long enough now that my mind isn't filling in the blanks as it were. Also, this is a good way for me to mold this story over that story. Hopefully, this plan works out, but that is why I haven't done much actual writing in the last few days…aside from being inundated with work stuff.**

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It had taken them the rest of the day to get even a little closer to the edge of the city that Terminus was on. Honestly, if Rick had to guess, they were likely only half way through. Like they had at mid-day, the three of them found an empty apartment above-ground-level to settle in and spent the night. Most of what was slowing them down was the sheer volume of Walkers congregated in the city which of course mean they had to move cautiously. The city was by no means as large as Atlanta, but it was large enough that even if the world had been right, and death wasn't snapping at them from around every corner, it still would have taken a good portion of a whole day to get to the other end of the city.

Rick couldn't believe how strange this city was. It was definitely unique in that it started at the top of a hill, its main street curving and winding down into a basin and then winding its way back up another hill. Terminus sat atop that other hill, which was the only reason they could see it from the far end of the city. The main street was twisty, almost like the lay of the land had forced the city to weave its way along as it grew.

'_Or maybe they were all drunk. Fuckin' hillbillies ain't sober much_,' the memory of Daryl's voice whispered into the back of Rick's mind from a happier time. It would have been a lighthearted comment quietly directed to Rick's ears only. Daryl wasn't one to show his more comedic side to just anyone, and Rick had always felt privileged that the hunter had made it a point to share his strange little bits of redneck humor with him on the sly, muttering little comments like that as he brushed past the former deputy on runs and hunts. It made Rick's heart hurt to think he'd never hear those private little jokes again.

Reining in his runaway focus, Rick turned his mind away from thoughts of Daryl, their former life and from thinking about what must lay in wait down any of the side streets that lead to more residential and small business buildings off the main drag. Instead turned his attention back to Michonne who was still peering around a corner, assessing the side street.

When Michonne finally turned to look at them, Carl leaned around Rick to meet her thoughtful gaze. "We should have a better backup plan," Michonne murmured, and Rick glanced back at Carl. Carl looked interested and attentive. Not for the first time, Rick thanked the day he was blessed with such an amazing son. It was clear that they were all well aware that coming back through the city wasn't a very good idea. Their luck was holding so far, but he really doubted that they'd be so lucky passing back through. The odds were against a safe return trip for certain. The Walkers were already seeming more alert as they continued on their way through this time as it was.

"In case…" Rick inhaled sharply, pressing a hand into his side and folding himself forward a little when his ribs twinged. He had tried to stand up too straight. "Terminus doesn't work out an' we have t' get back t' the other side o' the city. I agree."

"Dad?"

"I'm fine…Carl. Just… let's keep movin'. We can work it out as we go."

Carl dipped his chin just a little and adjusted his grip on his pistol. The movement reminded him briefly of Shane letting off nerves right before a bust. It made his stomach turn a little and he looked up to Michonne to clear the image from his mind. She motioned them after her a second later. As they crossed the mouth of the side street, Rick glanced down the road. It was obvious what had given Michonne so much pause and sparked the concern for a backup plan when he took in the military station and its mix of military Walkers and civilian Walkers half-stepping and shuffling around the sandbag blockades and low fences. It flashed his mind back briefly to that tank he'd spent a little time in on that street in Atlanta and he turned his eyes away just as they came up along the building on the other side of the street.

They talked in quiet murmurs, falling silent within a foot of each corner. So far, they'd been lucky. The Walkers here were dormant enough without living stimulation readily available that they hardly stirred when the three of them slipped past. Once or twice, Rick or Michonne had skewered the skull of a resting Walker that was seated along the buildings as they moved down the sidewalk. The kills were always swift, and they always moved along without hardly a pause, hoping not to have a repeat of the previous day from the Walkers across the main street. Sadly, even as they neared the edge of the city, they had yet to come up with any kind of working backup plan. There were too many variables and unknowns to account for much of anything. Rick just prayed to whatever powers that were that Terminus would be all that it had promised, and that they wouldn't have to worry about it.

He should have known better.

It was an uncomfortable length of time after they'd left the city behind in which they had to follow a leaf dusted stretch of paved road through a bright and sunny woods. Rick felt exposed and vulnerable, and it was obvious that Carl and Michonne were equally discomfited by the lack of cover provided by a thinly wooded roadside. It was also uncomfortably bright out when they'd gotten used to the usual dreary skies of fall in Georgia post-Turn. The forest was annoyingly deceptive, nature being so suddenly sunny and cheerful without a Walker in sight, but something out there was putting Rick's hackles up. It put Rick on edge for reasons he couldn't entirely explain, but was assured in knowing that Michonne and Carl felt the same.

"It's like…we're going back in time or somethin'," Carl said a few miles down the road when it was presumably safe to speak at a normal volume without Walkers around. Rick looked around and nodded.

"There aren't bodies or anything," Michonne pointed out. "With as many Walkers as there are in the city, you would think that a road leading into a civilized area would be littered with corpses."

Rick took another look around, pausing when he thought he saw movement out amongst the trees to their right. His companions stared equally hard for a few minutes before Michonne gently touched his shoulder. "We need to keep moving. It's got to be getting close to evening."

Nodding, Rick dragged his eyes away from the spot he'd been watching and the three of them pressed on. Following a bend in the road, they came into view of the first gates and Rick immediately took them off the main road, but to the left, still wary of whatever had caught his eye to the right. It was best if they got themselves a good look around, a little bit of an assessment of their potential enemy, before getting in any deeper than they were. If Terminus wasn't everything it claimed…

Rick shook his head, clearing his mind of thoughts he'd been over a million times if he'd been over them once on this trip. It wouldn't do them any good to put himself ahead of whatever was going to come. He'd end up dead on unfounded predictions, and so might his son and a woman he'd come to see as a sister. As silently as the leaves allowed, they moved along the fence as it wound its way through the trees. Without maintenance crews to tend the nearly eight foot tall fence there were leafy vines overgrowing the diamond patterned metal mesh, conveniently blocking them from view from the ground but unfortunately preventing them from getting a good look at the roof tops. If nothing else, he was able to look for guards in the trees unhindered.

A sudden commotion up ahead, had the three of them moving with silent swiftness away from the fence and into the trees. Rick took a good look around above them and then they hunkered down. Quite a ways down the fence, a gate swung open to allow an armed man to step out into the forest. A moment later he was followed by a line of people in two rows. There were ten in total marched out of the gate, followed by a pair of armed guards. The first man through shut the gate and the procession was moved along. Rick and Michonne exchanged a quick look before Rick looked to Carl. They couldn't separate. It was too risky. So, with a silent nod in the direction the group of guards and apparent captives were heading, Rick pushed himself up into a low crouch and moved silently after them. It was painful, but he managed because what other choice did he really have? Thankfully, Michonne and Carl were near silent as they moved along behind him. Rick was glad for the time they'd all spent out on the road without safety. It had made them tough and silent survivors.

Eventually, the group before them stopped. Rick crouched low by a large tree and glanced about him as Michonne and Carl did the same, staying low and as hidden as possible. Certain of their positioning and that they were indeed as hidden as they could get, Rick turned his attention back to the group they'd followed.

"…doesn't care. Beggin' fer yer lives ain't gonna work." The man's drawl was thick and mountainy and for one moment Rick felt his heart skip with dread. That rasp and the southern redneck drawl sounded so damn familiar that he had to stop himself from lurching to his feet. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was the scrape of rough bark under his palm and the twinge in his side. The rest of his mind caught up with him just in time – thanks to the pain of his battered body reminding him of just why they were where they were – to point out that the man doing the talking was too tall, too broad, and full of way too much swagger to be the Daryl that had stayed by Rick's side, proving that Rick's faith in him as a good man despite his upbringing was well-founded. His Daryl wouldn't be party to this…execution.

"Y'all ain't worth the bullets some o' them soft-hearted types think we're puttin' in ya," the first man through the gate added. He was a weasely sort and Rick had taken an instant dislike to him that was only fortified by his almost high-pitched voice and obvious glee in whatever was about to happen.

Rick glanced back to the group of captives, taking them in individually for the first time. Two of the captives were middle-aged men who looked not unlike himself, beat down, stripped of nearly everything and yet still determined to survive. Two of them were young boys not too far in age from his own son. The remaining six of the ten were men and women who were old, wizened and wrinkled with years and experience. What skills and resources these people might hold, Rick would probably never know, but he was aware that what was happening in front of him was wrong even if they'd been useless as survivors. He had long ago come to terms with not being able to save them all, to the limits of what could be provided to a given number of people who were contributing nothing to the group…but this was still _wrong_.

Given a stable, well-guarded place to call home as the prison had been and this Terminus seemed to be, and the option of resources like the woods, its game and the land for farming as the prison had offered and this place so clearly had, Rick couldn't imagine a justification for putting people in front of a firing squad like this. Hell, he'd _taken in_ his enemy's abandoned people! What the hell was the leader of this place thinking?! Rick could understand sending strays on their way after building them up into survival ready individuals. He would have been likely to eventually do so himself given that some of the Woodbury people had begun to show discontent with the way things were done at the prison. He understood taking care of your own first and only helping those you could help safely, but this was clearly something more nefarious than sending folks on their way with all this talk of bullets and begging.

One old man raised his chin as Rick assessed the situation and looked the weasely man right in the face. "You won't hear me beg, you little shit. There's a special place in hell reserved for the likes of you boys and Negan, and I'll be there waiting for you. Believe you me."

The two young boys started to cry, clinging to each other. Their resemblance to each other was unmistakable. Rick felt his chest tighten. He glanced to his right at Carl and felt his stomach drop. Carl's hands trembled where they gripped tightly to his pistol, but it was the way his whole body shivered that made Rick swallow hard. Months ago, he might have mistaken that quivering in his son's body for fear. After the collapse of the prison fences and after the Governor's attack, Rick knew now that it was a readiness for action that gave his son that coltishly eager tremor. Terrified that Carl would foolishly take action, Rick hissed at him, a wordless sound that snapped his boy's attention back to him. Carl's eyes were wide beneath the brim of his hat, and Rick met them with as much empathy as he could, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

Carl's lips thinned, and he lowered his chin, concealing his expression and therefore his thoughts from Rick's eyes with the brim of the hat. After several long tense minutes in which Rick heard and saw nothing but the boy near to his side, Carl finally clicked his pistol to safe and holstered the weapon with a fierce shove.

It was time to go before whatever was happening in front of them escalated into something they couldn't ignore. Michonne nodded when he glanced her way and then he turned back to Carl, but the boy had kept his chin lowered still obscuring his view of his father with the brim of his hat. Rick reached out to touch Carl's shoulder, felt the world tip as he overbalanced beyond his ability to recover given his ribs, and bit off a curse as he crashed hard to the ground.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: Whew! This chapter was one big, run-on flow of thought through fingers to page. It was a crazy ride to the end of the chapter for me! I hope you all get the same enjoyment out of this that I did. ^_^**

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Even as the world had only just begun to tip, Michonne's hands were grabbing at him. Rick had a split second to wonder at how very quick Michonne's reflexes were before the taste of dirt became a powerfully awful distraction as it cluttered into his mouth. He could hardly breathe for the pain, having landed on his worst side. Rick had even flailed like a fool on the way down, crashing into the ground despite his desperate attempts to flex and wobble to right himself through the stiffness and pain. Every attempt to correct his plunge to the forest floor from where he had been kneeling was like a punch to his side. He should have just let himself go down instead of resisting. He probably wouldn't have ended up so winded. Carl's hands were on him then, and all thoughts of how foolish he had been fled as together the pair of them got him up. Rick's feet hit the ground and, knowing that they really needed to run, Rick clumsily planted one foot in front of the other. If not for Carl and Michonne, Rick would have been a dead man. The shouts of the armed men behind them only emphasized that simple truth, but with their aid, Rick found that he was a little more able to keep up with them. He still slowed them down, but not like he had been before moving on his own.

More shouts came from behind them. Rick knew better, even dazed, than to look behind them, but he could guess that at least two of the armed men were in pursuit. They burst out of the forest and onto the main road, turning back toward the city. A burst of gunfire from behind had Rick shifting his weight and urging them back into the woods on the other side of the road. The trees would provide some cover both from the gunfire and the Walkers that the noise would inevitably bring. As they crashed through the very sparse underbrush, Rick caught movement of out the corner of his left eye and turned his head. His line of sight ran beneath Michonne's chin, and the world around them seemed to slow as horror overtook him. A pile of human bodies, stacked and strewn about the forest floor like forgotten dolls, lay close to their left. In fact, they were now hopping and stepping over corpses as they hurried along. As his focus shifted from slowly dawning horror to deep and disparaging terror, he realized that not all of the corpses were unmoving.

"They're everywhere," Carl hissed suddenly and threw his slim weight into his father's side. Rick hissed a curse, but the action moved both Rick and Michonne further left with barely a stumble and effectively dodged a trundling, reaching Walker that had clearly come to feed.

"We need to get out of here!" Michonne snapped, tense and struggling under Rick's weight. What was wrong with him? He was going to get them all killed if he didn't pull it together! Taking as much of a deep breath as he could manage, Rick reined his reeling mind in and pulled away while still moving forward with them, taking his own weight.

"We just need t' get back t' the city," he growled and gestured with a snap of his hand in the direction the city had to be.

Michonne, free of Rick, pulled her katana and cut down two Walkers directly before them. They were making better progress now. Rick couldn't hear anyone following them anymore, but it wasn't worth the chance to lose ground just to find out. It was several lung-burning minutes before they broke the cover of the trees and tumbled headlong into a deep ditch. Clearly, it was just a catch for the runoff of rainwater, so thankfully, without any rain in the last few weeks, it was dry as a bone. Rick lay gasping on his back for just a moment before he forced himself to roll to his side. Carl was there immediately to help him up, while Michonne was already on her way up the other side. She turned halfway up the incline, and with the help of both her and Carl, he made it up onto level ground again.

Thankfully there was no fence surrounding this side of the city, and they ducked into the first alley they saw, slowing up and moving deeper into the city with greater caution than they'd exhibited in the woods. The growls and hisses of the Walkers that had tailed them out of the woods were audible just behind them. It would be a minute before the uncoordinated masses were able to stumble up the other side of the ditch, but it would be prudent of them to get their asses in gear and find a place to lay low.

Michonne's round-the-corner checks were quick and harried, knowing that both the living-dead and the living were not too far behind them. It was that urgency that made them clumsy, and after a moment or two into their flight Rick stumbled hard into the back of Michonne, completely missing her 'hold up' gesture. His weight and awkwardness sent her stumbling into the side street. Carl came around the corner before Rick's faux pas had registered and stopped just behind them. A whole herd was already turning to face them, staggering forward with outstretched arms.

"Run!" Michonne barked, and the three of them spun. There was no going back the way they'd come as the alleyway was clogged with the Walkers that had followed them out of the woods. The only way that they could go was further down the other half of the side street. Rick's energy was waning, his ability to breathe hindered by his body's refusal to take a deep breath. He stumbled. Carl was there immediately, pulling Rick's arm over his shoulders and steadying him with an arm around his waist as they hurried on. Rick glanced at his boy, but Carl was too busy staring straight ahead or checking their blind spots to pay the look of adoration and gratitude his father gave him any mind.

The herd behind them was growing and the commotion from all of it was starting to draw more and more Walkers into their path. They were running out of options. Something that came to a head very quickly when they rounded the next corner and found themselves trapped. Boxed in at every turn by lines upon lines of shambling, hungry corpses. A small terrified noise escaped Carl's throat and the arm around Rick's waist tightened as the Walkers began to close in.

"Dad," Carl whimpered and looked up. Rick brought his eyes down to his son from where he'd been desperately searching for a way through the growing herd of Walkers. It was a futile effort, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

"Carl…" he murmured, feeling empty and hopeless and absolutely useless. He'd failed at the _only_ thing that mattered. Carl was going to die at the incredibly _young_ age of fourteen, and it was all _his_ fault. Lori was probably so disappointed in him right now. She was never going to forgive him for this. Eyes burning he tipped his head back, trying to stem the flow of tears as he pulled Carl into a tight hug. Slender arms wrapped tight around Rick's waist as his son buried his face into his father's sternum. "I'm so sorry, Carl. I tried so hard. I just couldn't-"

Michonne, sword held at the ready backed into him, pressing the length of her back against the curve of Rick's spine. The contact brought his chin back down with a start, and his eyes passed over a door in the brick wall beside them on their way from the sky to the brim of Carl's hat.

"The door!" he all but screamed. Michonne spun and zeroed in on the entryway in question. Rick and Carl moved toward the door with a sudden synchronicity born of desperation. Together they shouldered into it. It groaned. The frame looked old and rusted. Weak. "Again!" Rick ordered, glad that they had some space, and that the Walkers were tripping over each other more than anything, but it wouldn't be long before they'd be on them. The second hit took his breath away, but the door groaned again, giving under their combined effort. Michonne killed three Walkers that had broken away from the pack and then spun, leaning in over Carl's head where the boy was angled low, really trying to put his full weight into an all-out steady push. Rick staggered back and then threw himself forward.

The door gave with the groaning screech of metal.

As one the three of them staggered into the pitch black of the enclosed building's interior. Michonne and Carl were already forcing the stiff and barely mobile door closed behind them. It would take a lot of coordinated effort to get it open again. Already Rick could hear the Walkers on the other side, clawing at the door and wall and moaning in frustration. It was eerie especially since there was no light inside the building. Rick had already taken two steps back from the closing door when his elbow had bumped into the railing of a stairwell which confirmed what he'd barely glimpsed while the light had poured through the door. Cautiously, Rick took a step to his left, moving away from the stairs that he could sense as a void at his back.

There was a sudden sound like the wooden cracking of arthritic knuckles followed by the gasping hiss of a reawakened Walker. It was his only warning before there was a surprisingly powerful pair of hands grabbing at his ankles. Caught off guard and without much in the way of balance with the mind-numbing pain in his side, Rick flailed, cussed and felt himself tumble backwards into empty space.

TBC…


End file.
